


The Kitchen Floor

by Dylan Mischa Letacis (stereotypicalunicorn)



Series: Johnlock songfics! [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Addiction, Angst, Apologies, Betrayal, Blog, Boys In Love, Break Up, Drugs, Existential, Existential Crisis, Gen, Idiots in Love, Internal Monologue, John Misses Sherlock, John's blog, Little Green Cars, M/M, Memories, Missing, Moving Out, Multi, Other, Pining, Rumors, Sad, Sadness, Secrets, Sentiment, Songfic, TJLC | The Johnlock Conspiracy, Texting, The Kitchen Floor, argument, fight, lyrics, not really lots of Harry and her gf either but yeah, not really much of Donovan and Lestrade but it's there, texts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-27
Updated: 2016-07-27
Packaged: 2018-07-27 00:21:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 871
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7596049
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stereotypicalunicorn/pseuds/Dylan%20Mischa%20Letacis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John and Sherlock have an argument. John finds Sherlock that night, empty syringe in hand. John moves out, but he hasn't moved on.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Kitchen Floor

**Author's Note:**

> Wow! Sorry for the angst! Also sorry that this fic is late, I've been on vacation and will be again in a few days, so writing is hard. I absolutely love this song, and suggest that you listen to it while you read: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yOWYShZzRJQ Thanks for your love and support!

 

John found Sherlock lying on the floor with a smashed microscope on his chest and a halo of stained papers surrounding his head, an emptied syringe clutched loosely between his blue-tinged fingertips.

 

_ And in a moment, _

_ I had forgotten _

_ all the things that you had said to me _

 

As John looked at Sherlock, he didn’t think about the offhand insults, the arrogance, the implications, or his own questions. In that moment, his mind chose one word- the word it would always choose:

 

Sherlock.

 

_ I think just like a child _

_ You try to burn my mind _

_ All it is  _

_ is dangerous to me _

 

What was this? Had he made the wrong choice? Was  _ Sherlock _ the wrong choice?

 

Perhaps he had been wrong. Perhaps danger was not for him.

 

_ And through the kitchen door, _

_ I see you’re on the floor _

_ Said you never wanted me to see _

 

“I’m sorry, John.”

 

He hears those words everyday, replayed and replayed for him by some unauthorized, unwelcome disc jockey in his head.

 

_ I guess what’s done is done _

_ It looks like you had fun _

_ I’ll just go inside and watch TV _

 

Was he not enough?

 

_ I’ve been enough, _

_ and it gets rough  _

_ when all the people stare _

 

The blog had reached 20,000 hits that very afternoon. 20,000 readers meant 20,000 curious ears, but John didn’t want to talk to them.

 

_ Talk on the street  _

_ and in my face  _

_ is that we are not living _

 

Sometimes John felt dead inside. He wasn’t oblivious to the rumors, but there had always been rumors- some that he wished were true.

 

Would the rumors die away one day? Become a forgotten corner of history?

 

Would he die away? Would his legacy disappear?

 

Would Sherlock’s?

 

_ I’m just a cast  _

_ you had removed  _

_ when all the pain was over _

 

Had he been used? Was he simply a convenience?

 

Was this over?

 

_ I’ll sit at home _

_ You’ll never know _

_ the things you make me think of, _

 

Sherlock didn’t know about the stolen glances and the withheld words- the things he would have called sentiment. John understood now why some people were averse to such emotion.

 

_ you make me think of. _

 

He understood why whatever this was became considered a weakness.

 

_ And when I think about _

_ the times you carried out _

_ everything you said you never would _

 

Sometimes, John had dreams of experiments, body parts in the fridge, missing jumpers, and vague texts. The memories were tainted. Worse was the remembrance of broken promises, discarded vows, poisoned with the same dark hue lingering in the background. John could now identify this as the shadow of Betrayal.

 

He thought about that last argument.

 

Was this his fault?

 

_ Pick up the telephone _

_ I ring my friends at home _

_ They say I should stop _

_ I think I should _

 

He’d called Greg the next morning. Donovan had picked up. She said she’d told him so. John was the first to hang up.

 

_ And in a moment _

_ I try forgetting _

_ everything you ever said to me _

 

He tried. He really tried, harder than you can imagine, but you don’t just forget a man that you lived with for four years, a man that you lov-

 

_ I think about the mountain, _

_ how I’ve never been there, _

_ probably because I was with you _

 

Harry had found someone a few months before. The woman was named Jackie, and the couple had bought a cabin in the mountains. They lived there together. Harry was sober. There were few things John wanted more than to visit them, but that was difficult when you were constantly rushing around with your brilliant, beautiful flatmate. And then it was difficult because you were busy missing your brilliant, beautiful flatmate.

 

Now that he thought about it, he had probably missed quite a bit. Maybe it was time to rejoin the rest of the world.

 

_ You say enough _

_ You think you’re tough _

_ to say to me it’s over _

 

John hadn’t wanted it to come to this. Was this a declaration that Sherlock didn’t need him?

 

That Sherlock didn’t want him?

 

_ I’m out the door, _

_ but I’m not sure if I’ve forgotten something _

 

Most days, when Mary was gone and John was alone, he’d sometimes start to say something, as if a curly-haired consulting detective was sitting in a chair across from him. 

 

The chair across from him was not Sherlock’s, and no one ever sat in it.

 

_ You lie awake _

_ You try to make amends _

_ ‘cause  you’re not sleeping _

 

Sherlock had texted him the next night.

 

**John. -SH**

 

**I haven’t slept or eaten since you left. -SH**

 

**I’m so sorry. -SH**

 

**I miss you.**

 

John had already been asleep. He wasn’t ready to talk to Sherlock anyways. Not after their fight, not after the drugs. He had just needed time.

 

Is it too late?

 

_ I’ll sit at home _

_ You’ll never know  _

_ the things you make me think of, _

 

Intense eyes. Bowed lips. Long, steepled fingers.

 

_ you make me think of. _

 

John still saw that image of Sherlock every day.

 

_ And through the kitchen door, _

_ I see you’re on the floor _

_ Said you never wanted me to see _

_ I guess what’s done is done _

_ It looks like you had fun _

_ I’ll just go inside and watch TV _

**Author's Note:**

> I'll definitely be writing more Johnlock songfics, (and probably Destiel, Phan, Tenrose, and Dramoine songfics) so leave me suggestions if you've got any, aye?
> 
> Feedback is so, so appreciated. This is my first songfic, as well as my first super-duper angsty Johnlock fic, so I've DEFINITELY got room to improve, which I am tragically and painfully aware of. Help me out?
> 
> I LOVE YOU ALL SO MUCH, OKAY? THANK YOU!


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